Chapter 2
Chapter two
Charlie
"Holy shit," I whisper, staring at my reflection. The woman looking back at me is somehow both familiar and a stranger.
My sister stands behind me, makeup brush still in hand, looking immensely pleased with herself. "Told you I'd make those eyes of yours pop."
She has. The smoky shadow creates this sultry dimension that turns my normally hazel eyes almost green.
My normally unruly waves have been tamed into soft, beachy curls that frame my face and cascade just past my shoulders.
And my lips—usually bare except for chapstick—are now a deep berry that makes them look fuller, more pronounced.
But it's the dress that completes the transformation. The emerald fabric clings in all the right places, the neckline dipping just low enough to be interesting without veering into desperate territory. Even without a bra, the dress's construction makes my C-cups look lifted and accentuated.
"You're a wizard," I tell her, turning slightly to see how the dress catches the light. "An actual wizard."
"I know." She caps the lipstick tube with a decisive click. "Now can we acknowledge the fact that every single person at the club is going to be drooling over you tonight? Because they will be."
"They'll be drooling over all of us," I say, finally taking in my companions.
Emily's crimson jumpsuit hugs every curve, the halter neckline exposing her pilates-sculpted shoulders that gleam under the bathroom light.
Her dark ponytail swings with each movement, hypnotic and deliberate.
Her gold stilettos add a good four inches to her height, yet she balances on them as naturally as if they were sneakers.
One glance and you'd swear she was about to either close a million-dollar deal or scale a building to steal diamonds.
Beside her, Lily radiates that effortless British cool - her midnight blue slip dress flowing like liquid against her perfect porcelain skin.
Her blonde bob catches the light, each strand polished to perfection.
Her vintage silver earrings dance and twinkle whenever she tilts her head.
She has a magnetic presence that will definitely make strangers do double-takes.
"We do look quite good, don't we?" Lily murmurs, her mascara wand making one final sweep across already impossibly long lashes. "Like Charlie's Angels, but with better outfits."
"And hopefully less crimefighting," I add. "These heels were not made for karate kicks."
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. "Uber's seven minutes out," I announce, checking the notification.
Another notification pops up on my screen just as I'm about to lock it—Instagram. My stomach tightens. Not tonight. I slide my finger over the alert, dismissing it without opening.
Nope.
"Perfect timing for a pre-game shot," Emily declares, already moving toward the kitchen. "Liquid courage before we make our grand entrance!"
We follow her out of the bathroom, the three of us momentarily pausing to admire our collective reflections in the full-length mirror hanging in the hallway. We look good. Really good. Like the kind of women who have their shit together, who know exactly what they want and how to get it.
If only that were the case for me.
In the small kitchen, she’s already lining up shot glasses with practiced efficiency. The tequila bottle—Casamigos, because Emily doesn't believe in cheap liquor, and because it’s my favorite tequila—stands ready beside a plate of pre-sliced lime wedges.
"To hot girl Friday," she proclaims, pouring golden liquid into each glass with a steady hand.
"To new adventures," Lily adds, picking up her shot.
They both look at me expectantly.
For a split second, Ethan's face flashes across my mind. The Instagram photo, him proposing, that stupid vintage filter they used to make it look more romantic. Just six months to replace our entire history.
I push the thought away and raise my glass. "To remembering who the fuck we are."
"Cheers to that." Lily giggles as we clink glasses.
The tequila burns a clean path down my throat, making my eyes water slightly. I sink my teeth into the lime wedge, its acidic tang exploding across my tongue and chasing away the liquor’s lingering heat.
"One more?" Emily suggests, already reaching for the bottle.
"Trying to get us drunk before we even leave the apartment?" I laugh, but my shot glass slides across the counter toward her anyway.
"Not drunk. Just...optimally social," she corrects, as the liquid cascades into our glasses. "Besides, have you seen those drink prices? Since The Velvet Room was my idea, I'm buying the first round, this is just good economics."
"Can't argue with that logic," Lily says, fingers curling around her second shot. "Though I should warn you both, I get very chatty when I'm tipsy."
"Chatty how?" I lean forward, eyebrows raised. We've shared the apartment for a few months now, and while we've killed bottles of wine on the couch, we haven't witnessed each other in the wild yet.
"I have been known to make girlfriends in bathroom lines," she admits. "Once, in Bristol, I ended up exchanging numbers with three women I met while waiting for the loo. We still have a group chat."
"That's a superpower, not a flaw," Emily declares. "You never know when you might need emergency friends in a bathroom."
My phone buzzes again—the Uber is two minutes away.
"Last call," I announce, holding up my shot. "To bathroom friends and expensive cocktails."
"And to whatever else the night brings," Emily adds.
This time, the tequila goes down a touch smoother, still leaving that burn in its wake.
I feel it spread through my chest, down to my fingertips, relaxing muscles I didn't even realize were tense.
The anxiety that's been riding my shoulders begins to dissolve, replaced by a light, bubbly anticipation.
For the first time in months, I feel genuinely excited about going out. Not just going through the motions, not just showing up because I promised someone I would but actually looking forward to the night ahead.
"Uber's here!" Lily calls from the window. "Black Tahoe."
We grab our things—coats, small clutches just big enough for ID, credit card, lip gloss, and phone—and do one last mirror check. Emily smooths out her ponytail, I adjust one curl to frame my face better and Lily straightens the strap of her dress.
I take a deep breath, shoulders back, chin up.
"Ready to make some bad decisions?" Emily grins, linking her arm through mine and then through Lily's.
"Moderately questionable ones, at least," I agree, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face.
As we step outside, the December air hits me, but I barely register the chill. Between the tequila and the anticipation, I'm running hot. The Uber driver glances up as we approach, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly looks back at his phone to confirm the name.
"Charlotte?" he nods, opening the rear passenger door for us.
"That's me!" I smile and wave at him.
We pile in, a tangle of bare legs and perfume and last-minute lipstick checks. Emily gives him the address for The Velvet Room, then immediately leans forward between the front seats. "Can we connect to Bluetooth? My sister has an excellent going-out playlist."
Before I can protest that I most certainly do not have a designated "going-out playlist," the driver—Mike, according to the app—shrugs good-naturedly. "Go for it."
Emily's already grabbing my phone. "Password," she demands.
"You know my password," I sigh, watching as she types in my birthday with practiced ease.
"Just checking if you changed it," she says, navigating to my Spotify App. "You should, by the way. 0-1-2-3 is way too easy for someone to guess."
As she scrolls through my playlists, I catch her pausing at my notifications.
Her eyebrows lift slightly—she's seen the Instagram alerts.
For a moment, I think she's going to click on them, and my stomach tightens.
But then she meets my eyes in the dim light of the car, something questioning in her gaze.
I give a tiny head shake. Not now. Not tonight.
She nods and returns to Spotify, finding a playlist I don't even remember creating and connecting to the car's system. Seconds later, 1000 Blunts from $uicedboy$, fills the space. Emily turns up the volume just enough to make conversation possible and dancing inevitable once the bass hits.
"Ten minutes to destination," Mike announces as we merge onto the main road.
"Perfect timing," Lily says, checking her lipstick in a compact mirror. "Just long enough for the tequila to really kick in."
"But not long enough for my feet to remember these shoes were a mistake," I add, wiggling my toes in the strappy heels I haven't worn since... well, since I can't remember.
"Pain is beauty, beauty is pain," Emily says sagely, then immediately contradicts herself by pulling a tiny ziplock bag from her clutch. "Which is why I brought these." She hands each of us what looks like a small, clear gel pad.
"Ball of foot cushions," she explains. "Stick them in your heels. Life-changing."
"You're like Mary Poppins with that tiny handbag," Lily marvels, already applying the cushion to her strappy heels. "What else have you got in there? A lamp? More tequila?"
"A lady never tells," Emily replies primly, then ruins the effect by adding, "But I do have mints, hair ties, two band-aids, and an emergency tampon, just in case."
The car fills with our laughter, bright and bubbling against the backdrop of the music.
Outside the window, the city slides by in a blur of lights and movement.
Friday night energy pulses even through the SUV’s tinted windows.
People are spilling out of restaurants, groups are huddled on street corners deciding where to go next, a few couples are walking hand in hand toward their evenings.
For a fleeting moment, I think about where Ethan might be tonight. Celebrating with Olivia? Planning their wedding? The thought threatens to pull me under again, but I push it away. Not tonight. Tonight isn't about what I've lost. It's about having fun.
"We're here, ladies," Mike announces as we pull up to a sleek building with a line already forming outside. A discrete sign in elegant script reads "The Velvet Room" above doors guarded by two imposing bouncers.
"Thanks, Mike," I say as we gather our things. "You've been a gem."
"Have fun ladies," he replies, and there's something genuine in his smile. "Whatever you're celebrating, y’all look amazing."
We step out onto the sidewalk, adjusting our dresses.
The bass from inside pulses faintly through the walls, a heartbeat inviting us in.
The line looks long, and I start walking down the sidewalk towards the end, but Emily's already striding confidently toward the door, bypassing the queue entirely.
"Em," I hiss, hurrying after her. "There's a line."
"My friend Max is meeting us." she calls back over her shoulder. "He texted me earlier. He's got us on the list."
Sure enough, when we reach the entrance, Emily gives a name to the bouncer, who checks his iPad and nods, unhooking the velvet rope to let us pass.
I hear the grumble of line goers. Someone says, "What?
" and another shouts, "How are they getting in?
" But I don't want to cause any more drama, so I just follow my sister and Lily.
As we step inside, the music envelops us, the lights are dim and pulsing, the crowd a shifting sea of movement and energy. For a moment, we stand together at the threshold, taking it all in, the sprawling space, the second story views, the beautiful people with their beautiful drinks.
"Well," Lily breathes, eyes wide with appreciation. "This is quite something, isn't it?"
Emily squeezes my hand, a silent question. Are you okay? Are you ready for this?
I squeeze back, feeling the music calling to my body, the night stretched out before us with infinite possibility.
Fuck Ethan and fuck his engagement.
"Let's dance," I say, leading them into the crowd. I want to get lost in myself tonight.